


Highborn Brothers

by SingingSpringingLark



Series: Legends of Chivalry [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Broken Promises, Chivalric Tales, Epic Misunderstanding, Family, Friendship/Love, Gen, Heroic Sacrifice, In Media Res, Love and Loss, Past and Present, Platonic Relationships, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Unreliable Narrator, death and despair, foregone conclusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 10:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21052964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingSpringingLark/pseuds/SingingSpringingLark
Summary: It is common knowledge that House Fraldarius has been loyal to House Blaiddyd since the Kingdom’s founding days. It is no surprise that the Saviour King and Duke Felix Fraldarius’s friendship began long before they were born.In the year 1161, when the queen and the duchess became with children, the king and the duke came up with a plan to merge the Houses Blaiddyd and Fraldarius:Would there be a little princess, she would wed the duke’s son. Is a young prince born to the world accompanied by a little duchess, two houses would unite all the same.“And if fate decides to grants us both sons, Lambert?” said Duke Fraldarius.“Then we raise them as brothers, like you and I were, Rodrigue,” replied the King.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a six part series, but the stories can be read as standalone. Also, if something doesn't have a name in canon, expect me to give it a name.

**F**elix remembered his brother reading to him the story of Loog and Kyphon, who despite being born to different Houses, came together as brothers.

In a swordsmanship tournament they met and duelled each other, immediately becoming friends for life. They shared many grand adventures and always stood by each other, side by side.

At Gronder field! At Gronder Field they took an oath: to save the weak and downtrodden—to with their blades cut themselves free of the Empire’s yoke! Under the golden sun and red blushed sky, their twin swords crossed and they swore the oath: to in life share all wealth and glory, and on the same day depart to the next realm.

To battle! To battle they rode together—two sworn friends: King Loog with his lance held aloft; Sir Kyphon following closely behind with his sword and shield. They cut a swath through the enemies together—unstoppable like a force of nature!

Four long years they fought the Empire. Four long years they battled, forging a friendship deeper and stronger than those who are by kinship bound.

It was said that amidst the chorus of death and destruction, a quartet of assassins took aim. Their bowstrings sang in the wind and when Loog fell off his horse, Kyphon dismounted to save his friend.

His eyes flashed as the assassins closed in for the kill; Loog lay shell-shocked on the ground unable to defend himself. But within seconds, Kyphon had deflected the next volley of arrows with his shield, and in the next moment his blade had flown from its scabbard and into his hand, parrying the assassin’s blade mere inches from the spine of his king. Kyphon’s blade hummed like the wind, slashing the enemy’s throat. In mere moments, the enemies lay vanquished—decimated by his mighty blows...


	2. Chapter 2

_The skies were clear, the fields were green_

_Two young warriors, valiant and strong_

_Journeyed together far from home_

* * *

_It was in spring 1188 that King Dimitri made the first attempt to reconcile with the people of Duscur, offering to meet with the leaders of the rebels, who’d been fighting against the occupation of their homeland since the massacre in 1176. The gathering was to take place upon Avalon Hill and with the King of Faerghus followed a retinue of allies and friends. First rode the Knights of Faerghus and their commanders, who were closely followed by the Royal Guard protecting the king. And shadowing them was Duke Felix Fraldarius, who’d insisted to come along._

_The path cut through a thicket, a snaking road up mountains and hills. The sun was setting when they were halfway through the forest path, and that was the moment the assassins decided to strike. From the shadows of the trees, an arrow whistled through the wind and hit Felix Fraldarius’s steed. And the horse, it sprang into panicked frenzy, throwing the duke off its back!_

* * *

**F**elix’s world spins as he tumbles to the ground, his vision blotted by darkness as he hears his name echo in the distance as loud hooves stomp the dirt around him, kicking up a cloud of dust in his face. Lifting his arms and shielding his head, he hears another voice shouting his name:

_“Felix!”_

It’s Dedue’s; his voice rings loud and clear despite the armoured boot slamming down next to Felix’s face, kicking more dust into the fallen duke’s face as he slips and slides around the road. The knight clutches the reins of the horse, trying to keep the spooked animal from trampling Felix amidst the chaos.

Three bursts of a warhorn pierce the air, and the frightened horse screeches and drags Dedue to the ground and then proceeds to tow the captain of the Royal Guard away with the road smoking behind. Felix pushes himself up to his elbows and hands, his eyes clouded by tears as he gazes beyond the trees. Seeing archers taking aim, he immediately rolls over and reaches behind his back, retrieving and brandishing the Aegis Shield of Fraldarius as the arrows flies his way.

The alarm is sounded; the knights of the Royal Guard draw their weapons and raise their shields to defend their king. As Dedue sprints back to the caravan after losing Felix’s horse, Ingrid orders the Knights of Faerghus to form a shield wall around His Royal Majesty while Ashe leaps to Felix’s defence with his bow and arrow in hand.

Ashe shoots two arrows into the trees, and Felix sees a body fall from the branches. The sprightly knight wraps an arm around the duke’s shoulder and then pulls back behind the wall of shields.

“Felix,” Ashe says, his arm still looped around Felix’s shoulder as he looks down to his dusty face. “Are you okay?”

Felix gives his friend a firm nod and unlink their arms. He tries to stand when a sharp pain shoots up his left foot and forces him back down to that half-sitting position next to Ashe, who’s still squatting at his side with his bow and arrow out while searching for enemies in the shadows.

Felix looks behind him to see the King on his knees on the ground in a state of shock and confusion: His face is white as a sheet and his fingers are buried in his hair; he shakes and quivers from top to toe; and his lone blue eye is brimming with tears as its pupil darts back and forth.

“Dimitri?” Felix says, cautiously questioning the King’s state of mind. He stares and reads the Dimitri’s lips, dread gripping his heart as he sees them forming the words Felix had heard _the Boar_ utter too many times during the bloody war of Fódlan.

“_Dimitri!_”

Felix bites his lip as he turns around and pads across the ground, literally crawling over to his king—to his dearest friend. He grasps Dimitri’s rigid hands; he grasps the hands of a frightened child from the past.

The King winces and draws in a short breath, slowly turning his head to face Felix, his face contorted in fear and anguish as he starts to cry in the ugliest fashion imaginable while whispering Felix’s name.

It hits Felix like lightning in a calm summer night—when Dimitri launches himself onto him and latches strong arms around his neck.

“Wha—?” he wheezes, unable to breathe in the King’s iron grip.

He doesn’t realize that the warbows have stopped shooting, or that Ashe is trying to persuade the King to let Felix out of his grasp and clearly failing.

“Let go!” Felix says. “Dimitri, I literally can’t _breathe!_”

He claws and pulls at the King’s cloak with useless hands while gasping for breath.

Damn it, he thinks. Did he really live this long just to get suffocated by the Boar?

“_Dammit_, Dima…” whispers Felix, feebly pleading Dimitri to let him go. And suddenly, the iron grip around him loosens, giving Felix the opportunity to shove the Boar King away. Felix almost collapses; he places his searching hands on Dimitri’s breastplate as he leans on the King for support while attempting to catch his breath.

“Felix…”

Felix hears the shock in Dimitri’s tone, but he the air in his lungs is burning up. But instead of spewing fire at his king for his moment of weakness, he launches a swift blow to the Boar King’s face with a closed fist, making Dimitri sway sideways.

“Your Majesty!” the knights shout and turn around, but Dimitri’s open hand flies up in the air and stops them from retaliating against Felix.

The King holds the duke’s shoulders gently and searches for Felix’s gaze. Dimitri is regretful, and Felix watches him mouth silent apologies with a vulnerable look. Felix is about to reassure his friend when suddenly, Dimitri’s eye grows tall and he flings himself onto Felix once more; this time bringing them both to the ground.

He sees the arrow that hits the King’s shoulder and Dedue gives the order to tighten the defensive formation while Ingrid and Ashe break away from the caravan and charge into the woods with two other knights.

“Dimitri?” Felix whispers.

The King sits up, closing a hand around the front of Felix’s coat and lifting him up to a sitting position, too. He is still inappropriately placing himself in harm’s way to shield Felix when it should be the other way around!

“They’re not after _me_,” Dimitri says. “They’re after _you._”

Felix gazes towards the knights, who have surrounded and put the ambushing archer on his knees on the ground at the point of Ingrid’s blade, but the man spits on Ashe and then cuts his own throat on Ingrid’s sword, taking all his secrets with him to the grave.

“It’s part of a scheme to obstruct the peace conference,” Felix says as soon his friends return to the caravan.

“I’m not sure if that’s the case,” Ashe replies. “It seems like they are trying to assassinate _you_, Felix.”

“Great eye, Ashe,” Felix scoffs. “People have been trying to kill me since I was thirteen.”

“I know, Felix, but this is… _different_. Why _here_? Why _now_? It seems counterintuitive to make an attempt when you’re travelling with the Knights of Faerghus _and_ the Royal Guard.”

Felix looks to Dimitri, who’s wearing an unreadable expression of deep thought with a hint of anger. The King reaches behind his shoulder and casually plucks the arrow from behind his back—it might’ve cut through his fur cloak but it didn’t dent the armour beneath. Dimitri looks at the fletching of the arrow and then hands it to Ashe, asking him if he could trace the fletcher and perhaps find a trail to the enemy. He then looks back to Felix and offers him an open hand. Felix takes it and tries pulling himself up from the ground, but the pain becomes unbearable as soon he tries putting weight on his right foot.

“Is it broken?” Dimitri asks, squatting at his side.

“You _wish_.”

“Which foot?”

“My right—”

The words had barely left his lips when Dimitri began peeling down Felix’s long legwarmer, prompting the duke to seize the King’s wrist and glare at him incredulously. Ashe, who’d gone back to his horse to retrieve bandages from the saddlebags, returns. And upon seeing the scene, the knight cautiously hands the bandages over to the King, but Felix quickly snatches them from Dimitri and throws them back to Ashe. He then angrily points towards Ingrid and Dedue, silently telling the King what his priorities are.

Dimitri sighs and then walks off, briefly throwing his hands up in the air. Ashe looks at the King with concern and then turns towards Felix with an awkward laugh. Felix shakes his head and Ashe quickly helps him remove his footwear and then examines his ankle. He throws a glance past Ashe’s shoulder to where Dedue suggests that Ingrid fly the King straight to Avalon Hill. Ingrid, however, shoots down the idea, saying it’s too risky when their enemies clearly are armed with bows and arrows. They argue back and forth for a minute about risk and safety. Ultimately, it is decided that Ingrid alone flies to the conference to make sure the envoys of Duscur are safe.

“How bad is it?” asks Felix, gazing down at his injured foot.

“Doesn’t seem too serious,” Ashe replies as he finishes securing a bandage on Felix’s ankle. “There’s no swelling—yet. I think it’s just a light sprain.”

Felix lets out a sigh of relief.

“We should still get you to a healer though,” Ashe quickly says in afterthought. “In the meantime, you can ride my horse.”

“With a target painted on my back? No thanks; I think I’m safer on foot. This time it’s my leg; next time it’s my _neck_.”

He hears the flutter of wings as Ingrid takes flight on her pegasus and Dimitri’s slow steps as he returns to offer Felix his hand again.

Felix sighs and shaking his head, but he reaches up and grasps Dimitri’s wrist regardless. The King’s lips are closed when he gives the duke a gentle smile, and he grips Felix’s wrist in return while hauling him up to his feet.

Felix stumbles on his good leg and nearly trips, placing a hand on Dimitri’s nearest shoulder for support as he hops around to regain balance. When he frees his sword from the scabbard hanging off his belt, Dimitri slips an arm across Felix’s back and under his arm.

“I’ll walk with you,” says Dimitri, letting Felix lean against him.

Felix sighs in defeat.

“Whatever, King.”

* * *

_Loog and Kyphon, lifelong friends_

_One followed the other, never alone_


	3. Chapter 3

**H**ouse Fraldarius—Ever since the Kingdom’s founding days, its members have been loyal to the Crown and the Blaiddyd Dynasty.

Duke Fraldarius—the King’s Right Hand. Ever since he learnt to walk and took his first steps on Castle Fhirdiad’s marble floor, he was tied to the then young prince.

Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius—Faerghus’s Shield. In his days of youth, he studied military arts and tactics, making it his lifelong mission to safeguard his homeland and bring glory to his king. With the might of his Crest and the skill of his sword and shield, he led campaign after campaign against robbers and thieves. Fellow men at arms would speak of his skilful leadership, and locals would admire his bravery and noble heart.

His devotion to king and country did not escape King Lambert who recalled him from the battlefields shortly after ascending the throne. Paragon Knight, the king dubbed him upon return. Royal Advisor, King Lambert named him during the feast held in his honour.

Amidst congratulations and friendly talks, Queen Madeline had playfully pointed at the duke’s face. And with a laugh, King Lambert reached out his hand and plucked the very first grey hair from his dear friend’s head.

Rodrigue had laughed and drunken happily during that feast. But once returning to his own castle, and was greeted by his brother and young nephew, he silently retreated to his chambers and gazed upon the reflection in the mirror. A good third of his life had just flashed by in the blink of an eye. His younger brother had a wife and an heir already—while he, the elder brother was still alone.

“It’s just one hair,” his brother then told him. “You’re battleworn and weary, Rodrigue,” said his younger brother André, presenting to him a handful of letters from the nearby lords and ladies. “They’re all vying for your affections,” said the brother with a grin. “They all ask for the raven-haired duke’s hand in marriage.”

And so, Rodrigue heeded his younger brother’s advice and wedded the baroness Beatrix. Two children she bore him; two beautiful sons.

The elder—the heir—was born healthy and strong. Talented with both with the sword and the magic arts, he became a knight at fifteen and was elevated to Royal Guard two years later. Like his father, he fought for his king and country. Like a true knight, Lord Glenn gave his life to his prince. Like a true Fraldarius, he lived and died for his liege.

The younger—the spare—was a boy so frail that he almost perished the day he was born. Yet, this once frail child was a lucky one. He would befriend the prince and earn the king’s affections. He would walk an arduous road and live a long and fruitful life. He would love and he would lose; he would see the joys and sorrows of life. He would carry on his family’s legacy and see the fruition of his friends’ and family’s labours. Upon Fraldarius Hill his final resting place would be, not the catacombs of his ancestors. For he was Felix Fraldarius—nothing more, and nothing less.


	4. Chapter 4

**I**t is common knowledge that House Fraldarius has been loyal to House Blaiddyd since the Kingdom’s founding days. It is no surprise that Prince Dimitri and Lord Glenn were raised together as brothers.

In the year 1161, when the queen and the duchess became with children, the king and the duke came up with a plan to merge the Houses Blaiddyd and Fraldarius:

Would there be a little princess, she would wed the duke’s son. Is a young prince born to the world accompanied by a little duchess, two houses would unite all the same.

“And if fate decides to grants us both sons, Lambert?” said Duke Fraldarius.

“Then we raise them as brothers, like you and I were, Rodrigue,” replied the King.

So, it was decided. So, the deal was struck. Before the Goddess, they made the vow. Before the Saints they swore the oath—yet another among many.

Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was born one cold winter day; healthy and strong and right on time, like a proper Blaiddyd child. He cried and babbled and his laughter brightened the nursery in the darkest winter days.

It is said young Glenn Fraldarius’s expression was unreadable when the King placed the newborn prince in his arms. But when the Queen also nodded to him with approval, he smiled and cradled the young prince like an older brother enamoured with their first sibling.

From the day Dimitri was born, Glenn Fraldarius was tied to the prince.

From the day the prince could walk, Glenn spent half of the year living in Castle Fhirdiad. The other half of the year the prince was a ward of Lord Rodrigue in Fraldarius land. They were schooled and tutored together; Glenn was always at the prince’s side, as his brother; as his aide. His gentle hand guided the young prince’s letters and words with the quill, and his bravery and talents with a blade was inspiration for Prince Dimitri every day. And the prince, the prince held onto his older brother’s hand tightly, having nothing to fear as he stepped forward on sure feet.

* * *

It is common knowledge that House Fraldarius has been loyal to House Blaiddyd since the Kingdom’s founding days. It is no surprise that the Saviour King and Duke Felix Fraldarius’s friendship began long before they were born.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius arrived unexpectedly, as if he didn’t want to miss out on what his older brother had. The duchess gave birth in the carriage when the duke and duchess were heading back to Fraldarius land after a visit in Fhirdiad. There was no time for preparation; no time to call for a nurse. Right then and there, the young duke was born, delivered by the hands of knights.

He was frail; the boy, born two months early and he didn’t cry. But he lived. Rushed back to Castle Fhirdiad, the royal physicians saved both mother and child.

It is said the duke lost ten years as he stood waiting outside the ward for the healers and physicians to give him the news. It is said he stood shivering with his face in his hands, crying and praying to the Goddess to spare his wife and child.

“Do you have a name in mind?” asked the king, draping his cloak over his dear friend’s shoulders.

Duke Fraldarius let out a hitched, subdued sob, stifled by his own hands covering the bottom of his face.

“Felix,” said the duke.

“Felix…” the king repeated with a smile and a nod. “A good name, Rodrigue. May your son know nothing but happiness in life.”

From the day he was born, Felix Fraldarius was tied to the prince.

His first years were entirely spent in the royal castle’s nursery, swept in the same cloth as the prince himself. Wherever the prince was sighted, young Felix Fraldarius was always at his side. And the prince, he treasured his younger brother, who shadowed his every step and always pushed him to move forward.


	5. Chapter 5

**T**he duchess Beatrix revelled in the game of hunt, being the skilled huntress who pierced the duke’s heart with her arrow of love.

She would join him in the seasonal games, impressing nobles and commoners alike with her grace on horseback and her skill with the bow. Their sons came to share her passions and the entire family participated in the annual Great Hunt, in which the lords and ladies would gather for competition in the name of their House.

But this year, was the duchess’s very last hunt. It is said a white stag appeared before her company, and everyone took up the chase. On her noble steed, the duchess pursued—even as the others fell behind or lost track, she pursued the beast into the woods and vanished among the trees.

When she didn’t return on the evening, the king dispatched a search party alongside the duke in search for her. And finally they found her body at the bottom of a glen, lying across the offshoot of a small river with her head resting on a bed of rocks.

“She found a worthy opponent at last,” Duke Fraldarius said when her body was brought back to the camp. “She died doing what she loved,” he told his sons as he hung up her bow and quiver for display at home.

Glenn and Felix would remember their mother fondly, gazing at her trophies while sitting in front of the fireplace. They would frequent the old woods where she used to hunt, braving the treacherous forest in search for worthy prey like their mother before them.

* * *

_In the year 1170, the duchess Beatrix died falling off her steed in the Great Hunt. Duke Rodrigue Fraldarius never took another wife._


	6. Chapter 6

**T**he Brothers Fraldarius were so alike, yet so different.

Same raven hair framed very same looking faces, but their temperaments couldn’t be more different than the colours of their eyes.

Glenn was bawdy and bold like the stormy ocean in his eyes—only by the fetters of sheer intimidation did he hold his tongue in his father’s court. Critical of everything and everyone around him he was, yet there was a charm to his sarcastic remarks that traced back to a heart of gold.

Felix was gentle and polite—his smile melted the frostiest heart like the ardent flames in his eyes. Thoughtful and patient, emotions on his sleeve; he was a good listener and perfect companion. Often seen clinging to the prince, many thought him craven but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He was brave—so brave, young Felix; braver than anyone Glenn ever knew; braver than the prince and braver than Glenn himself; for bravest were those who were scared, yet marched on anyway.

* * *

From early age, young Felix Fraldarius knew he wasn’t his father’s favourite child. But whatever excess love and favour Glenn was given, the brother would transfer that onto Felix.

Everyone in the castle knew Felix Fraldarius adored his older brother and there was no secret that Glenn loved his younger brother back.

There were times Glenn would be sighted at the training grounds at dusk, reading the combat manual and repositioning his brother’s limbs and helping him grasp the form and poise.

There were times Glenn would be seen in his brother’s room, hunched over the younger Fraldarius while holding his hand and quill, guiding his little brother’s ink into numbers and letters alike.

There were times Glenn would sit at his brother’s bedside at night, reading him stories of valiant heroes, grand quests and long journeys, knights defeating monsters and saving maidens fair…

Tucked away in his brother’s strong arms in front of the fireplace in the cold winter nights, Felix had no doubt that he was the centre of Glenn’s world. Feeling Glenn pet his hair as he spoke and complained about his duties, Felix knew he was his brother’s most trusted confidante.

Glenn would tell him everything. Even things he didn’t tell his best friend the Prince. Glenn would share with Felix all his worries and fears—things no one else was privy to, things that taken out of context would land him in a dungeon or worse.

And young Felix would listen and soothe his brother’s worries, while Glenn put Felix’s self-doubt and fears to rest. As long as he had the Prince and his big brother Glenn, Felix Fraldarius thought that everything in the world was right.


	7. Chapter 7

**F**elix held his family relic the first time when he was seven years old. Margrave Charles-René Gautier and his sons Miklan and Sylvain had showed up unannounced for a visit one winter afternoon. The father and his friend went for a stroll in town, leaving the children to happily play in the castle. They decided to re-enact a historical battle outdoors, but there weren’t enough weapons to go around in the yard, so they went inside the castle to find more.

Goaded into it by the Brothers Gautier, Felix stepped on Miklan and Sylvain’s joined hands and then onto Glenn’s shoulders to pick House Fraldarius’s Aegis Shield from its display rack on the wall. The Prince was all the while screaming at them to stop, saying that the duke would be furious; that Miklan and Sylvain were _stupid _and that Glenn was _stupider_ for listening to them; and that Felix would fall and hurt himself or worse…

Even as a seven year old, Felix remembered feeling an odd attraction towards his family relic. He didn’t remember how long he stood on his brother’s shoulders admiring the shield, but he did remember playing sorcerers and knights with it afterwards in the courtyard. And he vividly remembered what happened when Duke Fraldarius and Margrave Gautier returned to find Miklan and Sylvain throwing snowballs at a Hero’s Relic while Felix was holding it.

Felix, too young to understand why his father was staring at him in open-mouthed mortification, clumsily brandished the Aegis Shield and said:

“Look Father, _look_! I’m just like you! _Hah!_”

The father didn’t even notice that Felix was successfully using the shield’s magic to deflect the snowballs; he hastily ran up to his young son, took the relic away and then squished the seven year old against his chest. He cradled Felix’s face, searching for something in his amber eyes and desperately asking if Felix was hurt.

“Nope!” said Felix with his brightest toothy smile, and to his confusion the father embraced him with a sigh of relief.

Duke Fraldarius then turned around to glare at Glenn.

“_You,_” said the father in an uncharacteristically icy tone and pointing an accusing finger at his elder son. “Come to my study afterwards, young man.”

Glenn didn’t get to have dinner with everyone else that evening and was confined to his room for the rest of the day. But in the next morning, after Margrave Gautier and his sons had departed, the older brother happily joined the family for breakfast and told Felix that he possessed a Fraldarius Crest just like him. The father nodded with a smile, saying Glenn now had to work harder or Felix would catch up and eclipse him in no time. Glenn had simply laughed and pinched Felix’s cheek, saying it’d take more than a Crest for the little pipsqueak to beat him.

Felix had flailed a fist at Glenn in response, saying he would beat him one day for sure. The Prince had sided with the younger brother and asked Glenn to not make fun of Felix, but Glenn replied:

“Aw, but he’s so cute when he’s angry, Your Highness. Look at him! He looks just like Ingrid!”

“I—do—_not_!”

“_See?_”

Felix had wanted to hide under the table out of embarrassment that morning, but he would later brag about his Crest the next time Sylvain and Miklan visited.

* * *

Prince Dimitri’s Crest manifested when he was nine years old and Felix was the first to experience its might.

When they were learning combat arts under the tutelage of the Knight of Faerghus, Sir Gustave arranged an unofficial competition between the young nobles one summer day in Castle Fhirdiad. Felix remembered eagerly participating in the tournament and at one point he ended up duelling the Prince.

Glenn and his friends, as well as Cousin Jacques, were there to cheer him on, so Felix really wanted to win. He put all the knowledge his father and brother had taught him to use, skilfully blocking the Prince’s attacks with his small shield while looking for an opportunity to strike. But Dimitri wasn’t letting up at all. He fought like a relentless storm, taking swing after swing after swing at Felix in attempt to wear the raven-haired boy down.

“Come on, Felix, he’s getting tired!” said Glenn. “Attack!”

Hearing that, the Prince dropped his shield and raised his sword with both hands and took one last swing at the young duke, snapping the blade in two when Felix blocked the strike with his shield.

The spectators, as well as Felix, were stunned by the sight and some of the nobles began to laugh as the Prince stared at his broken blade in confusion, and then embarrassment when Felix carefully poked him on the chest with the tip of his training sword. It wasn’t quite the victory Felix had hoped for, but he was happy that he managed to beat his best friend at last. And the Prince, he was so proud of Felix once the shock had passed.

“You’re _so_ good now,” said Dimitri. “I need to train harder or I’ll fall behind.”


	8. Chapter 8

**W**hen Felix was eleven years old, he learnt that even the strongest of bonds could break.

Glenn was waging a silent war against their father in the castle; it was the worst fight they’d ever had. From what Jean, the castle steward, could tell him, Duke Fraldarius had fired Glenn’s friend—the stable boy Raoul—and sent him back to his village without notice.

If only Prince Dimitri was here. Prince Dimitri was usually the peacemaker, but for once, he wasn’t at Felix’s side—the Prince was to spend the year with some other noble kids in Fhirdiad. Felix had whined and complained about not being allowed to follow Dimitri to the capital, but the father told him he’d had the Prince all for himself for eleven years and that it was time he learnt to share.

And now, Felix missed his friend while his family was seemingly being torn apart right in front of his eyes. For a whole week—Glenn pretended the father did not exist while offhandedly making disparaging comments about Duke Fraldarius right under his nose. And the father, he simply walked away, telling Felix that he’d give Glenn whatever space he needed to still his anger. Felix was utterly miserable; he didn’t know how to handle this war, since grudges in the family usually didn’t last beyond the night.

Glenn took Felix on a hunting trip at the end of the week, but his spirit remained in the castle warring against the father. The hunt was fruitless—Glenn tracked and shot poorly when he was distracted by his feelings and the brothers ended up meandering in the woods until dusk and then set up camp.

Felix remembered sitting with his brother at the campfire instead of sleeping. He remembered placing himself in his brother’s embrace and making an attempt to coax him into telling what was wrong. What happened between Glenn and their father? Why was Raoul fired?

“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” said Glenn. “He heard things he shouldn’t have heard and the old man, he—_Ugh_, just speaking about him makes me angry.”

Although Glenn never revealed the reason for the anger he felt towards Duke Fraldarius, he did impart some advice and life-lessons that Felix might or might not have chosen to interpret however he desired.

“I worry about you,” said Glenn, his arms protectively folded around Felix’s frame as he spoke. “You’re good at listening, Felix, but you need to start thinking for yourself instead of taking everything the old man says as law. He isn’t always right.” Glenn then lowered his voice and whispered: “And neither am I…”

Felix nodded quietly, even though he wasn’t sure of what his brother was alluding to.

“Good,” said Glenn with a smile. “Listen and stay true to your heart, Felix Fraldarius. Nobody knows what you want better than yourself.”

* * *

Having stilled his anger, Glenn returned to the castle with Felix, promising to make up with their father dear. As they led their horses to the stable, the brothers recognized steeds belonging to Count Galatea and Margrave Gautier; they had visitors! Felix and Glenn groomed their horses, and then proceeded to head back to the keep to greet their friends. However, halfway across the courtyard, Duke Fraldarius was showing the guests out of the keep with friendly chatter on his lips—it seemed like the brothers had completely missed out on an opportunity to spend time with Ingrid and Sylvain.

Ingrid, Count Valdemar Galatea’s daughter, was the first to sight the Brothers Fraldarius. The golden-haired girl smiled brightly and waved to the boys, and the brothers responded in kind. Unlike Miklan and Sylvain, who regularly dropped by unexpectedly with their father, Count Galatea didn’t have the wealth to travel much and Duke Fraldarius didn’t want to impose on his friend’s hospitality knowing his financial difficulties. As result, time spent with Ingrid was always pre-scheduled during summer and the brothers would often miss their friend when she was gone.

Felix remembered noticing Sylvain standing next to Duke Fraldarius with a downcast look when Margrave Gautier briefly exchanged words with him. The red-haired boy’s dour expression didn’t escape Glenn either, so while the servants fetched the guests’ steeds from the stable, the brother said:

“Why that long face, Sylvain? Lost a fight against Miklan again?” Glenn looked around the courtyard for a second and unable to find Sylvain’s brother, he asked: “Where _is_ Miklan, by the way?”

Sylvain averted his eyes and said nothing while his father calmly stroked his son’s shoulder and then turned towards the Brothers Fraldarius.

“Miklan’s grounded,” he explained half-heartedly. “Please, take care of Sylvain while he’s here. Your father and I have decided that Sylvain should stay here for a month or two.”

“Really?” said Felix with his hands raised above his chest in excitement and glee. Forgetting all manners, he ran up to his friend and grasped Sylvain’s hand. “That’s wonderful! It’s so dull when Dima—when _His Highness—_ isn’t here. I’ll show you the new sword Glenn got me! Oh! And my shield! I got a new shield too! Ingrid! Do you want to see it too?”

For once, Sylvain showed no excitement at all and kept his gaze nailed to the ground in silence. Felix noticed how stiff he was and how he knitted his red eyebrows together in discomfort. And assuming that Sylvain did have a fight with his brother, Felix tried to reassure his friend.

“Glenn and I fight all the time too,” said Felix. “You and Miklan will be okay.”

Sylvain had briefly gazed back at Felix with a saddened look.

“I hope so…” he said weakly as the Margrave was handed the reins of his horse. He looked as if he was in pain when he waved his father goodbye.

Ingrid, on the other hand, had run over to Glenn and taken the older brother’s hand, excitedly saying they were going to get married.

Felix remembered Glenn staring at his little girlfriend in open-mouthed shock. Then, he looked to Duke Fraldarius, who responded with a nod and a mirthful smile. Ingrid’s father had approached Glenn and squeezed his shoulder with a fatherly smile, saying he knew Glenn was a good lad and that he would treat his daughter right. Glenn was completed floored and couldn’t even respond properly, standing there like a statue even as Count Galatea waved to his daughter and told her it was time to leave.

“Come now, Ingrid, you’ll have plenty of time to spend with Glenn in the future.”

Felix knew Glenn loved Ingrid as much as he did, if not more so. Unlike Felix, who found the girl equally endearing as he found her repulsive, Glenn only had nice things to say about Ingrid: She was smart, she was brave, she was funny and sweet, and she was adorable when she stuffed her face with food. Had the deal gone through, Glenn probably could have cultivated a loving relationship with Ingrid as husband and wife once married. But at the time, Glenn was angry. He didn’t oppose the betrothal immediately—even Glenn Fraldarius had enough tact to not shame her in front of family and friends. But after Ingrid and her father had left the castle, Glenn stared into his own father’s eyes with a gaze dark and foreboding like an oncoming tempest. All plans of reconciliation were abandoned as Glenn stormed off to his room without a word. And the father, he could only shake his head in defeat while following his son’s retreating shadow with a bewildered look.

* * *

Glenn barricaded himself in his room that day, leaving Felix to drag Sylvain out to the courtyard to spar instead. But the young margrave clearly wasn’t putting in the effort—he was a terrible replacement for Glenn and the Prince. Sylvain held his lance half-heartedly and his form was off. Felix enjoyed the thrill of victory, but when he disarmed Sylvain within a single round, he felt nothing but irritation.

“You’re not even _trying_,” Felix told his friend. “I’m going to find Glenn, you-good-for-nothing.”

Sylvain exhaled through his nose and shrugged his shoulders while Felix returned to the keep to find his brother. He would to drag Glenn out of his room if he had to—he couldn’t let his skill rust just because Glenn was mad _again_!

On his way to the brother’s room, Felix passed the father’s study and heard Glenn’s voice coming from there. Felix couldn’t remember the details of the argument, but he remembered Glenn was yelling and cursing up a storm while the father shouted back with equal ferocity. When he peeked into the room, he saw his father raise his hand, lightning flashing in his eyes as he was about to strike his favourite son.

In the silence that followed, Glenn defiantly took a step towards the father with his head held high. And Duke Fraldarius, he stood there like a statue with his hand quivering in the air—try as he might, Rodrigue Fraldarius could not strike his beloved child. And Glenn, he couldn’t bear to watch the pain and sorrow in his father’s eyes and spun around and ran. As Glenn escaped the scene, Felix briefly saw his brother’s face contorted in sadness and tears—that was the first time Felix saw his older brother weep.

And in that very moment, the bright flames that slept in Felix’s spirit burst alive. He ran up to his father and shoved him while shouting something that clearly had no place in his heart. The father was caught by surprise; he tripped over a footstool, and his head collided with the edge of his desk as he fell. And immediately, Felix’s anger turned to fear as he realized what he’d done. He, too, escaped his father’s study and ran back out to the courtyard.

Sylvain was still there cleaning up after Felix had hastily left, collecting the weapons and putting the training dummies away. Felix didn’t remember what happened immediately afterwards, but he remembered crying into Sylvain’s shoulder and mistakenly calling him the Prince’s nickname, while the older boy comfortingly raked gentle fingers through his raven hair. Even years later when such things were too embarrassing to speak of, Felix would remember this kindness even though he’d never mention it again. That once upon a time when he was sad and lost, Sylvain had offered him comfort and a shoulder to cry on.

Neither father nor brother showed for supper that evening, and both Felix and Sylvain dined at the longtable in silence. Felix kept gazing at his father and brother’s empty plates and chairs. He remembered this being the worst meal he’d ever had.

And he remembered sitting in the courtyard later, sour and despondent together with Sylvain. Misery loved company, and the attendants who went out to give the young lords their cloaks would speak of two miserable children huddled together in the moonlit yard.

“I have a Crest,” said Sylvain, finally breaking the silence.

Felix, not understanding what his friend meant at the time, could only indignantly reply:

“So?”

“Miklan _doesn’t_,” whispered Sylvain while burying the lower half of his face in Felix’s narrow shoulder. “That means I’m my father’s heir. And Miklan hates me for it…” he said with a voice wracked with guilt and punctured by sobs. “He wishes I was never born.” Sylvain wept and his grip around Felix became rigid and desperate. “He pushed me down a well and left me there… I was so _scared_. I called for him. I asked him what I did wrong; I told him I was sorry; but he was gone!”

“Sylvain…”

“_I don’t want the stupid Crest!_” cried Sylvain. “I don’t want the _stupid lance, _the castle _or_ the _damn title_! I just want my brother back…”

Sylvain, who used to be haughty and proud, had abandoned all sense of pride and dignity. He cried as if his world had come to an end. And Felix, the soulful listener, felt his friend’s pain.

“If you want… I’ll be your brother,” offered Felix.

“Don’t be stupid,” replied Sylvain with a huff.

“I’m _not_,” said Felix. “You know how King Loog and Kyphon swore an oath before battle? I’ll swear it with you.”

And so, it was decided. So, the deal was struck. Beneath twinkling stars and the sickle moon, they swore the oath. In the bailey of Castle Fraldarius, they crossed swords and made the vow.

When they stood in the middle of the courtyard with training swords in hand, Sylvain laughed as the tears on his cheeks began to dry.

“You know, Felix,” said Sylvain as he held out his sword before him, his old self surfacing from the waves of sorrow and pain. “I‘ve always wanted a little brother.”

“Hmph.” Felix let out a huff and briefly turned his face away. Crossing his sword with Sylvain’s, he drew in a deep breath and then recited from memory the oath:

“I, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, ask the Goddess to bear witness to this oath.”

“I, Sylvain Jose Gautier, ask the Goddess to bear witness to this oath.”

“Through thick and thin, we shall stay together; wealth and troubles we will share. Though not born on the same day, in the same month and in the same year, we ask to die together so.” Felix then lifted his sword and pointed it skywards towards the moon, raising his voice as he finished: “And should I ever betray our friendship, may the Goddess strike me dead!”

“Woah,” Sylvain winced and lowered his training sword. “Hey now, I didn’t agree to _that_!” he said, suddenly staring at the young duke in shock.

“What?” said Felix.

“The ‘Goddess strike me dead’ part!”

“You want to betray me?”

“_Of course not!_”

Felix narrowed his eyes, unimpressed as he waited.

“_Fine,_” drawled Sylvain. He rolled his eyes and held his training sword aloft, crossing blades with Felix, but any trace of sincerity had left his tone: “And should I ever betray our friendship… may my future wife be an ugly old hag!”

“_Sylvain!_” Felix yelled at his friend and dropped his sword. He then kicked Sylvain in the shin for making a mockery out of something supposedly beautiful. “_Fine!_ _Be_ that way! I don’t care anymore!”

He then shoved the young margrave out of the way and stomped back into the keep with Sylvain following closely behind, offering apologies and whatnot.

And while Felix would later treat the event as something dumb and childish, Sylvain would remember that oath. Even years later when such things were too embarrassing to speak of, Sylvain would remember this kindness despite never mentioning it again.

That once upon a time when he was lost in despair, Felix had offered him his hand and guided him home.

* * *

That night, Felix couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed until he finally decided to leave the room and find Sylvain for some nightly castle exploration or adventuring. When he exited his bedchambers, he heard Glenn in the corridor down the hall.

Following his brother’s voice, Felix eventually found himself downstairs at the entrance of the great hall, bathing in the warm light of the fireplace. Duke Fraldarius sat on a footstool in front of the fire and Glenn stood next to him while putting bandages around the father’s head.

“Hold still, old man,” said Glenn. “Stop making it harder for me to help you.”

“I’m fine,” said the father in a weak, subdued voice.

“Yes, you _certainly_ looked fine lying at the bottom of the staircase, you old fool.”

“It not as serious as you think—”

“You fell down the staircase! Not serious _my foot! Look _at you!” Glenn gestured towards his father, who simply hung his head low in shame and defeat. And Glenn, he sighed and averted his eyes, lowering his voice to a half-hearted whisper as he finished securing the bandages: “How am I supposed to take my knighthood vows with a clear conscience if you can’t even take care of yourself, old man? You’ve truly rusted away if an eleven year old beat you up.”

“That eleven year old is my son and your dear brother,” said Duke Fraldarius.

“I know…” Glenn lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But would it kill you to just call Jean for help after you fell and hit your head?” Glenn sighed and quietly gathered the bandages and scissors and put them back into the medic box on the floor. “You really want me to bury my own father before I leave, do you?” he then whispered, gazing back at his father dear.

Duke Fraldarius fell silent and turned away, looking into the flames as he gently touched the bandages wrapped around his head. For a moment all that could be heard was the wood cracking in the fire.

“I’ll make you some tea, Father,” said Glenn finally. “Will mint leaves do?”

“You can serve me rainwater and mud and I’ll still drink it,” replied the father with a small chuckle.

Glenn sighed and shook his head, turning to leave the great hall and finally spotting Felix standing at the entrance. Smiling mildly, he gave the younger brother a nod and then began heading towards the kitchen, but Felix ran up to Glenn and embraced him tightly. The older brother began to gently pet Felix’s shoulders when he suddenly let go and then ran over to their father, latching his arms around Duke Fraldarius’s neck and nearly pulling him off the stool.

The father smiled meekly and gazed past the bend of his younger child’s arm and towards his elder son. Glenn sighed again, initially crossing his arms with a grumpy expression, but then he threw his hands up in defeat and stepped over to his family, draping one arm around his father’s shoulder and cradling his younger brother with his other hand.


	9. Chapter 9

_In the autumn 1174, Glenn Fraldarius showed bravery and loyalty befitting a Knight of Faerghus when he defended Prince Dimitri in the capital against assassins. _

_He was dubbed a knight in Castle Fhirdiad by King Lambert himself and subsequently assigned to Prince Dimitri’s retinue. Two years later, he was be promoted to Royal Guard and tasked with accompanying the royal family to Duscur on a mission of diplomacy._

* * *

**T**here were many knights of House Fraldarius, but few were knighted as young as Glenn; he wasn’t even sixteen when the king presented him with a sword and proof of his knighthood. It is said Glenn had warded off the assassins with his sword and shield, fighting side by side with Prince Dimitri as the chaos broke out and holding out until reinforcements arrived. The people who saw the fight on the streets of Fhirdiad would liken Glenn to the legendary Kyphon, who defended King Loog in battle with courage and fervour!

Glenn was always two steps ahead of Felix, whether it came to swordsmanship, archery, military tactics or even being the Prince’s friend. Felix was convinced he’d never be able to outshine Glenn, but that never stopped him from trying to catch up—and try he did, with all his might. He pursued his brother’s shadow with vigour and conviction, tripping and falling over his feet all the while. And Glenn, he would stop and look back to Felix, encourage the younger brother to dry his tears, get back up, and bravely march on.

One day—Felix believed it—he would walk beside Glenn and not behind him. One day, he would grasp Prince Dimitri’s other hand and walk beside and not behind him.

Glenn spent considerably less time with Felix after he became a knight, but Felix still felt he was his brother’s most trusted confidante. In the short periods of time Glenn spent home in Castle Fraldarius, he would share with Felix the things he couldn’t tell anyone else—things that taken out of context could be interpreted as high treason or worse.

He would complain about his knightly duties and make fun of the fools he had to protect. He would talk about snake pits and lions, and dastards hiding daggers in their sleeves. He would call their own father an old fool; hopelessly blinded by his loyalty that he couldn’t tell the king no. How the other lords and ladies were practically begging Duke Fraldarius to weigh in and talk some sense into his “kingly brother” instead of being an incorrigible yes-man.

“It’s unbelievable!” said Glenn, pacing back and forth in the courtyard while Felix sat on a bench and polished his sword and shield. “If the old man only said no, the council would be in disfavour and the King would have to reconsider! But no! I have to parade myself _all the way_ to Duscur because _that woman_ wanted to see some flowers! _Pshaw!_”

Back then Felix didn’t pay much attention to court intrigue, so he didn’t really know what decision Glenn was vehemently opposing or who “that woman” was, but he vividly remembered the conversation that would eventually haunt him later in life.

Glenn had quietly sat down on the bench right next to Felix and asked with a seeking look:

“Felix, do you love His Highness?”

Felix stopped polishing his shield and stared at his brother with a crooked, hesitant smile while raising one of his dark eyebrows in question.

“Wh-what?”

“Do you love Dimitri?” Glenn repeated the question unflinchingly, his stormy eyes staring right into Felix’s soul while asking. “Would you like to spend the rest of your life at His Highness’s side as Duke Fraldarius?”

“That’s _your_ job,” said Felix, fiery eyes darting away and avoiding his brother’s gaze. He’d even instinctively placed his shield between his brother and himself in defence.

“No, Felix, I’m asking you: Would you like to be Duke Fraldarius?”

Felix pursed his lips, gripping his shield tightly as if he was sitting on nails.

“That’s not happening,” said Felix and he realized he sounded more bitter than concerned. “_You’re_ Father’s heir.”

“You’re still not answering the question.”

“My answer doesn’t matter!” Felix almost stood up when Glenn reached behind his shield, grabbed his shoulders and gave Felix a firm shake with his strong hands.

“It matters to _me_, Felix,” said Glenn.

“Why?” said Felix, unable to understand what more his answer could possibly lead to other than pain and resentment.

“Because you’re my brother and I love you more than anything else in this world, you idiot! I need to know if—”

Felix angrily shook his brother’s hands away from his shoulders and stood up, leaving his weapons on the bench as he began heading towards the keep, but Glenn seized the younger brother’s wrist.

“_Glenn!_”

“_Dammit_, Felix, just answer the question!”

“Let go!” said Felix. “This is _dumb_!”

“It’s not a _difficult_ question, Felix!” said the older brother. “Be honest with me. Do you _want_ to be Duke Fraldarius? Would you be _happy_ to spend most of your life at Prince Dimitri’s side?”

“_Yes!”_ said Felix finally, almost shouting at his brother. “For heaven’s sake,_ yes! _There!_ Happy?_”

Realizing what he’d blurted out, Felix stared into his brother’s stormy eyes, worrying for a moment that Glenn would hate him the way Miklan had come to hate Sylvain. But the older brother simply gave him a relieved smile and once again placed warm hands on Felix’s shoulders.

“Good,” said Glenn, calmly looking into the flames of Felix’s eyes. “That’s all I needed to know.”

Felix had stared at his brother with confusion, but Glenn abruptly dropped the subject and went back to the bench, fetching and handing Felix his sword and shield.

“Now, let’s get to sparring, shall we?” said Glenn. “I’ll be away for a very long time after this, so you better take the opportunity if you want to train with me.”

They trained and sparred together the entire day and chatted and laughed from evening until the deep of night, treasuring the little time they had together. Felix promised he’d grow stronger and beat Glenn in a fight one day. And Glenn, he laughed and said he looked forward to that.

Glenn would head back to his post in Fhirdiad Castle at the rise of dawn. He would depart to Duscur with the royal family a few days later. It would take weeks or even a whole month until Glenn could come back, but for his dear big brother, Felix had all the patience in the world. Felix Fraldarius was no longer a small child—he was his cousin Jacques’s squire now. The stories of knighthood of chivalry he used to read were replaced with books of history, governance and military tactics. Exciting hunting trips were replaced with the boring aspect of seating at the duchy’s council as his father and uncle’s aide. But Glenn still meant the world to him. As long as he had his big brother and the Prince, Felix Fraldarius thought that everything in the world was right.


	10. Chapter 10

_The cold rain pours, the warbows sing_

_A storm of arrows soar in the wind_

* * *

**F**elix practiced archery in the courtyard in the morning when envoys from the capital arrived in Castle Fraldarius with the message.

They brought back Glenn’s armour—his helmet caved in and his visor stained with blood. They brought back Glenn’s sword—a misshapen object warped by a furnace of magic.

Felix had despite himself burst in tears and cried into his hands, but Duke Fraldarius stood silent as he accepted the armour and the sword. Rodrigue Fraldarius dismissed the messengers with a gesture and then turned to his remaining son. Embracing Felix, he spoke the damning words:

“He died like a true knight.”

* * *

Glenn Victor Fraldarius. Any person of sound mind would’ve said he died too young—a life cut short by the cruelty of fate or whatnot. So why did everyone in House Fraldarius think his death was a good thing?

When Glenn’s remains were brought into the ancestral catacombs, Felix had to watch the officials from Castle Fhirdiad present to Duke Fraldarius his deceased son’s awards and honours and the compensation for Glenn’s death.

What was the point? For whom was this charade really? Glenn certainly couldn’t enjoy any of this.

Felix could see it; he could see the pain in Dimitri’s expression as they listened to the eulogy. He could feel it; he felt the emptiness in his own heart when his brother’s death was praised as if it was the best thing that’d happened in the last century. Glenn’s death; it eclipsed everything else Glenn had accomplished in life. His death—his heroic sacrifice, _that’s_ what everyone would remember him for and not anything else.

Glenn, the knight who died for the Prince, they would call him. Forget what a wonderful brother or son he was. Forget that Glenn was a gifted swordsman and skilled mage—no one would remember that. No one would remember that beneath that black armour and aloof façade was a young man with a heart of gold, who kept his promises to his family and friends and lived to serve those he most dearly loved and admired.

A true hero, the mourners called him. He died a true knight’s death, they proclaimed. The words cut into Felix like a jagged knife, twisting in his heart until he could do nothing but cry and scream. He vaguely remembered doing just that during the ceremony. He remembered assaulting his own father who held the damn speech. And he remembered being dragged off to a corner and being scolded for his shameful behaviour.

Because Glenn was a hero, and heroes were to be praised—not mourned.

* * *

_In the summer 1176, the Blaiddyd royal family and their retainers were slaughtered on Duscuran soil._

_Prince Dimitri, the sole survivor of the massacre, recounted a rain of fire and arrows suddenly falling over the caravan while it rested in the fields. In a flash, wagons and carriages were ablaze, causing the horses and work animals to panic and run amok; and amidst the chaos, unknown foes slipped past the ranks of knights and killed nobles and commoners alike._

_Many knights and nobles lost their lives defending the royal family that evening, including Glenn Fraldarius, who died protecting the prince._

_* * *_

_To battle they rode, king and knight_

_Loog and Kyphon, two sworn friends_

_Two rode to battle, one returned_


	11. Chapter 11

_Sword and Shield!_

_On Tailtean Plains!_

*** * ***

**A**t Tailtean Plains… At the Tailtean Plains Loog realized his dreams; at the Tailtean Plains he won the war.

Like a tempest, King Loog and his friend cut a swath through the enemy lines, routing the Imperial army and driving them off the field.

But as Loog and his men savoured the victory and collected the spoils of war, Kyphon faltered and looked back to the battlegrounds one more time. And there he saw it: from under a pile of corpses a deadly spell shone and took form… and Kyphon sprinted, dropping his weapons as he darted towards his friend.

“_Loog!_” He called out, shoving his king out of harm’s way in time.

And the king, he watched the spears of lightning impale Kyphon, who immediately surrendered his life to the Goddess above.

It was said that at Sir Kyphon’s funeral, King Loog shed bitter tears. Quietly, he whispered in the rain:

“You lied.”

* * *

_So it was decided_

_So the die was cast_

_One life for another_

_Loog must live on_


End file.
